What's a Little Shooting Between Friends?
by Mickey3
Summary: "But. You. Shot. Me." Rodney said, nearly whining as he enunciated each word.     "Yeah, well, consider us even." John replied. "You shot me first."


**What's a Little Shooting Between Friends?**  
><strong>By Mickey<strong>

Completed 03/16/2012

Season: 3

Spoilers: Phantoms

Archive Permission: Ask first.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue

Word Count: 3742

Author's Notes: Tag for the season 3 episode, Phantoms. As much as I liked this episode, I do love my Shep whump so I was a little peeved that the perfect opportunity to have him whumped, at least a little, was overlooked. Thanks to Erin for the beta!

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><p>Aggravated by Rodney's non-stop whining for the past two hours, John shouted, "Christ, Rodney, give it a <em>rest<em> already!" While Ronon had teased him as well, he at least had only been teasing and had the good sense to stop after a few minutes. Especially when John had pointed out that he had shot him in self-defense. Rodney, on the other hand, seemed incapable of letting it go.

"But. You. Shot. Me." Rodney said, nearly whining as he enunciated each word.

"Yeah, well, consider us even." John replied. "You shot me first."

"What? When?" Rodney's indignant look almost made John laugh out loud.

"Almost two years ago." At Rodney's blank look, John continued. "When that guy took over my body and damn near made me kill Elizabeth."

"Oh come on now, you've got to be kidding me. That doesn't count. I only nicked you! It was a flesh wound. Carson stitched you up in no time. The only reason you had to stay in the infirmary was because Carson wanted to make sure there wouldn't be any ill effects from the whole "possession" thing."

"It still counts. Good thing for me your aim sucks." John joked with a smile.

Anger flashed across Rodney's face at John's crack and without really thinking about what he was saying, he replied, "Oh, and I suppose it's okay that your aim is great and that the _only_ reason you didn't _murder_ me is because Teyla knocked your aim off?"

John visibly blanched and took a step back.

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Rodney immediately regretted what he'd said to Sheppard, but was too stubborn to even attempt to apologize.

John recovered quickly, his expression hardening into that impenetrable mask he wore when he tried to hide his feelings. The one he wore when he wanted, or needed, people to believe he was nothing more than a hard-ass, cold-hearted Air Force colonel. The only problem was that most of his people knew him well enough to see through it, especially the members of his team. Only a few really believed it.

Without a word, he turned and walked away, and the three people who knew him best watched his retreating back with concern.

Rodney looked at Ronon then Teyla. He saw the disappointment in their eyes. "What?" he demanded.

"Your comment was unnecessary, Rodney."

Which, Rodney recognized, was Teyla's polite way of saying, "what the hell were you thinking!"

Defensively, Rodney barked, "Yeah, well, it's true." Suddenly deciding that the loose thread on his shirt was fascinating, he looked down and started fiddling with it. Even before she spoke, he knew what Teyla was going to say, knew it was true, but he couldn't help himself. Sometimes his mouth was faster than his brain.

"That is not the point. What happened was not John's fault."

Relenting, McKay muttered, "Yeah, I know. Sorry."

Rodney heard Teyla shift around then groan softly. She sighed then said, "It is not I that you owe the apology too."

In almost a whisper, Rodney replied, "I know that too."

The problem was, Rodney knew, he wasn't very good at expressing his emotions. He was even worse at saying he was sorry. Admitting fault for anything, even something stupid and minor -and even if it was his fault, was difficult for him. How the hell was he supposed to apologize to someone as stubborn as Sheppard? Possibly the most stubborn man in the galaxy next to himself.

Would he even accept an apology?

Rodney knew he would, Sheppard was that kind of man. Still, it would be hard.

Unfortunately, getting up -or moving much at all, for that matter- was a very bad idea at the moment. And Beckett -who was also shooting angry glares his way- would kill him if he even tried. He would have to wait for Sheppard to come back. Maybe that wasn't so unfortunate. It would give him time to think about what he was going to say.

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Rodney's comment had hurt. John was painfully aware that he was right, which only made it that much worse. Three quarters of his team was injured and it was his fault. Knowing something was very wrong on this planet and that the Genii -and, likely, Major Leonard's team- had killed each other, he should have had Rodney check out the DHD before ordering the sergeant to dial it up. Especially since the major was still missing.

John was yanked from his thoughts abruptly by a terrified, high-pitched scream that could only have come from Rodney. He cursed as he ran back toward their camp. Being the only member of his team who _hadn't_ been injured, he never should have left them alone. True, Ronon's was just a flesh wound and the guy was more than capable of defending himself and the others, but still….

Cursing again, John picked up his speed as another scream ripped through the air. Damn! He hadn't realized he'd gone so far from the camp. His mind must have really wandered. A split second before his right foot landed, he realized what was in front of him and tried to change course. His ankle twisted and felt something give as his foot landed. In that same instant, something tightened around his ankle. He gasped in pain and shock as he was yanked into the air. Instinctively, he pulled himself up and grasped at the rope.

An action that saved his life as a large log swung through the air, precisely were his head had been just moments before. His hands slipped off of the rope and he dropped back down, his hands falling so the almost touched the ground. "Damn!" He muttered as his radio fell and skidded just out of reach. He'd lost his earwig sometime during his game of cat and mouse with Ronon. Tensing his stomach muscles, John tried to pull himself up again to work on the rope. His widened is surprise as another, smaller log swung at him.

Smaller, but moving fast and still heavy. It connected with his chest and knocked the air from his lungs, leaving John gasping. His vision blurred as he fought to breath. The log swung back and connected again, softer this time, but no less painfully. It swung back for a third time, but he managed to bring his hands up in time to stop it. The log hung motionless in front of him as he continued to gasp for air. _Crap!_ Breathing should _not_ be so difficult. Definitely shouldn't hurt so badly. He couldn't call out for help if he wanted to. Forcing himself to calm down, John took several slow, shallow breaths, trying to work through the pain.

After a few minutes, John was finally able to at least take shallow breaths without feeling like he was breathing in shards of glass. He tried to call out for help, but barely got out one syllable before coughing and gasping in pain again. Resting for a moment, he steeled himself against the pain he knew his next action would bring. Grunting, John pulled himself up, released the strap holding his weapon in place and grabbed his 9-mil from its holster. Moaning as he dropped again, John took a few shallow breaths before curling up slightly, pushing aside the pain as he aimed and fired at the rope holding him up.

Once again the air rushed from John's lungs as he landed on his back on the forest floor. His head connected hard with the forest floor and he fought the darkness that threatened to envelope him. Blinking away the stars, he forced himself into a seated position, twisted around, and scooted back against the trunk of the tree he'd just released himself from. Exhausted, he slumped against the tree and took slow, even breaths.

Momentarily disoriented and forgetting his injuries, John sat up with a start and gasped in pain. And just when he had fallen asleep?

"All right, Colonel," John whispered to himself, "your team may be in danger and you've just taken a cat nap for an unknown amount of time. Time to get off our sorry ass and get back and see what the hell is going on." Pulling his legs up, he tried to get up and promptly crumpled as he put weight on his injured ankle. "God," he groaned. Leaning his head against the trunk, he attempted to breathe through the pain again. Which was difficult since any attempt at taking a deep breath sent shards of agony through his chest. Once he had his breathing under some semblance of control, John attempted to stand again. This time, he braced his arms behind him and pushed himself up slowly keeping as much of his weight as possible on his left leg. Pushing himself away from the tree, John took a tentative step and was relieved when he didn't immediately fall back on his six. Slowly, he took a few limping steps before the world disintegrated around him.

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Disoriented, John stumbled as he took one step in the forest and the next in the Daedalus infirmary. A nurse caught him by the elbow, preventing him from falling on his face. Pale faced and shaking, John shot the young woman an appreciative smile as she guided him to an exam table.

"I thought you were uninjured, Colonel," Caldwell questioned as he entered the infirmary.

Not in the mood to put up with the colonel's sarcasm, and in much more pain than he cared to admit, John simply shrugged and replied, "I was," as he leaned back in the bed and closed his eyes. Feeling like he was being watched, John opened his eyes a few moments later to see the colonel still eyeing him expectantly. Sighing, frustrated, embarrassed and not just a little angry, John ground out, "It's a long story." Almost as an afterthought, and without the respect the word should have carried, he added, "Sir."

Frowning, Caldwell crossed his arms and replied, "We have time."

Something didn't seem right and John frowned deeply.

Apparently seeing the sudden concern on John's face and correctly guessing the reason for it, Caldwell informed him, "Your team is fine. We located them easily and beamed them directly into the infirmary.

Relaxing, John began his story, "I was patrolling the area." Not exactly true, but the colonel didn't need to know that. "Major Leonard must have setup quite a few traps before…" John's voice trailed off and he clutched his chest as the pain ratcheted up another few notches and it became impossibly difficult to breath.

Luckily, John was saved from any further questions when the nurse who'd helped him shoed the colonel from the infirmary. He noted the concerned look on the nurse's face and the disgruntled one Caldwell threw him that clearly said the officer was not happy about being rushed out and that the conversation was far from over.

Tired and in no small amount of pain despite the newly administered drugs, John didn't really care.

Wait… was that actually real concern he saw on the Daedalus commander's eyes? John filed the thought away for later consideration.

Glancing around, John noticed the infirmary was almost empty. Panicked, he shot into a sitting position quickly and instantly regretted it. He put one hand across his chest, trying to brace against the pain. He was vaguely aware of a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw the concerned face of the nurse. "My team," he gasped. "Where… are they?" He wanted to say more, but couldn't seem to get enough air to breathe, never mind actually being able to form words.

"We're fine, buddy."

John looked just to his left at the deep timbre of Ronon's voice as he spoke.

Before he could say anything else, Ronon said, "Doc's with McKay. 'Corse, that's only because he doesn't know what you've done to yourself yet." At John's concerned look, Ronon added, "He's fine. Doc just wants to run some scans. Make sure he didn't miss anything." He inclined his head to the far corner of the room and added, "Teyla is sleeping. Doc gave her some painkillers that knocked her out. He seems pretty certain they'll both make a full recovery."

As Ronon filled him in, the nurse slipped an oxygen mask over his face.

Still taking short, shallow, gasping breaths, John tried to turn enough to see Teyla. Realizing quickly it was a bad idea, he gave up, slipped the mask down and replied, "That's good…. You?"

"I'm fine."

Short, sweet and right to the point. Sometimes, it was exceedingly annoying. At times like this, though, John was glad of Ronon's directness. "They had trouble locking onto your signal for some reason. Took almost thirty minutes to sort it out and beam you up."

John gave a small nod as the nurse slid the mask back over his mouth and shooed Ronon away as she began removing his vest as gently as possible. He inhaled sharply as she helped him sit up and slid the vest off, and instantly regretted it as the pain in his chest intensified. _Damn!_ Why was it so hard to breathe, even with the mask? He had a bad feeling he'd done more than busted a few ribs. For that matter, thinking was getting difficult too.

When the nurse pushed him gently back against the bed, John didn't resist.

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FIVE DAYS LATER

Throat still sore from the ventilator tube Beckett had removed just that morning; John rubbed at it absentmindedly as his team entered the infirmary.

"It is good to see you awake," Teyla, using crutches, said with a smile as she approached John's bed with Elizabeth and the rest of his team trailing behind her. "And alert," she added after a moment.

Upon awaking almost half an hour ago, Doctor Beckett had filled John in on his injuries and treatment since he'd been beamed onboard the Daedalus. In addition to a torn ligament in his ankle -which would keep him on crutches for at least four weeks _after_ Beckett released him from the infirmary- he also had four broken ribs and a collapsed lung as well as a collection of assorted bump, bruises, scratches and abrasions. Beckett had made the decision to keep John heavily sedated until early that morning to help his injuries, particularly the collapsed lung, time to at least begin to heal.

Given his propensity to move around more than he strictly should when injured, John figured it was probably good thinking on the doc's part.

He'd also updated John on his team's condition. Rodney was on bed rest for at least another week, then light duty for a month after that. Teyla would be on her crutches for a few more days. Ronon's injury was just a flesh wound.

After an extensive exam that wore John out more than he was willing to admit too, Beckett had finally called his team in to visit.

Rodney, in a wheelchair and clearly unhappy about, griped at Ronon about his driving skills. John repressed a grin as Rodney glared at their friend and mumbled something John couldn't quite make out.

"Yeah, Doc says I was out of it for a while," John replied, returning the smile. Throwing a glare at Beckett's back, John -quite loudly, added, "That's what happens when you're drugged to the gills for damn near a week."

Too late, John realized raising his voice had been a big mistake. He slammed his eyes shut and clutched a pillow to his chest as the pain intensified there. Several long minutes later, the pain receded to a manageable level. John opened his eyes to see the worried faces of his teammates and Elizabeth staring at him.

Beckett had joined the group at some point.

Before John could utter a word, Beckett told him, "Relax lad. Try not to speak too much. Your throat is going to be sore for a few days." Then a little more crossly, added, "As I just told you that a few minutes ago." With a mutter, Beckett added, "Yelling isn't a good idea either."

John glared at the doctor, opened his mouth to respond, and then clamped it shut. He started to cross his arms over his chest, winced and thought better of it then settled on placing them at his sides.

Beckett conducted a quick exam. Once satisfied that John had not injured himself further, Beckett addressed John's team, "The colonel still needs to rest. You lot have got fifteen minutes, then I expect you all to leave him be. You are all still on stand down yourselves, so I expect you take it easy until I expressly say otherwise!" Beckett turned to go back to his work. Halfway across the room, he turned and added, "That means you go back to your own bed Rodney, not your lab." Turning at Ronon's snicker, Beckett wagged a finger and informed him, "And no sparring with the Marines for at least another week for you, lad."

John smiled at the indignant look on the big Satedan's face. Idly, he wondered how long it would take Ronon to disobey the good doctor's orders… if he hadn't already that was.

Beckett had assured him that his team members were fine, and John did trust him, but he had to hear it from them. Several minutes later, he was satisfied that they were all well on the road to recovery.

"Well," Elizabeth began, "I just wanted to stop by and see for myself how you were doing. Unfortunately, I have a lot of paperwork waiting for that I must get back too. So, I'll leave you four to your visit." She squeezed John's hand gently as she said, "I'll visit again later, get some rest." That said, she turned and left the infirmary.

John watched her leave, then turned his attention back to his friends. "So, Rodney, what were you screaming about?"

At Rodney's blank look, John added, "On the planet."

Suddenly wide-eyed, Rodney replied, "Oh, that."

Obviously, he had thought, or at least had _hoped_ John hadn't heard that. When Rodney made no attempt to answer, John waved a hand in a 'go on' motion.

Rodney's face turned suspiciously red as he muttered a reply.

Reflexively, John rubbed at his sore throat and gratefully accepted the glass of water Ronon handed him. He took a few sips then said with a grin, "Sorry didn't catch that." A small part of him took a little bit of sadistic pleasure in watching his friend squirm.

Ruefully, Rodney answered again, louder this time. "I said a spider climbed across my face."

"A spider?" John asked incredulously. "For Christ's sake, McKay, you were screaming like a girl," John grimaced as he pushed himself up a little further in the infirmary bed and looked at Teyla. "No offence."

Smiling, Teyla replied, "None taken."

Looking back to McKay, John continued, "You were screaming like a little girl over an itty bitty _spider_?"

"Itty bitty," McKay sputtered. "That thing was huge... _massive_!"

Smirking, Ronon helpfully threw in, "It was a little smaller than one of those coins you showed me a while back, the ones your people use for currency. I believe you called it a penny."

Resisting the urge to laugh, John leaned his head back against his pillow and listened to his friends' banter for a few minutes.

Just as Rodney was about to retort to a particularly, surprisingly, snarky remark from Teyla, Beckett came over to shoo them away. Secretly, John was kind of relieved. In the past few minutes, the pain in his chest had begun to increase, causing breathing to become difficult, and it was getting hard to hide it from his friends. The doctor adjusted the controls for the meds in his IV. After less than a minute, the pain decreased and he felt his eyelids begin to droop.

Beckett shooed his team away.

Rodney seemed resistant and requested, "Can I have just a few more minutes, Carson?"

John's eyes snapped open in time to see Beckett open his mouth to say something. Rodney cut the doctor off before he could speak.

"I'll make it quick. I promise."

Beckett nodded, but made no attempt to move.

Exasperated, Rodney sighed. "Alone," he pleaded. "I promise it won't take long then you can wheel me back to my bed without any protest from me."

For a moment, John was sure Beckett would say no, but after a brief pause, he nodded and said, "Five minutes, Rodney, not a moment more." Then he turned and walked away.

Awkwardly, Rodney cleared his throat as he wrung his hands in his lap. "Look, Sheppard, I… uh… I just wanted to say…. That is, I felt the need to…."

John struggled to stay awake as Rodney fumbled and tried to find the words he was looking for. Even drugged, John had a feeling he knew where this was going. "You don't have to say anything, Rodney. I shouldn't have snapped at you like I did. I'm s-"

"Damn it, colonel," Rodney exclaimed. Lowering his voice, Rodney waved his arms in frustration -grimaced at the pain that simple movement caused- and said, "I'm trying to apologize here. This is a rare thing as you well know so how about you just shut up and let me get on with it!"

Surprised, John nodded.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. What I said was totally uncalled for even if I did feel sorta provoked at the time." Rodney paused, seemingly weighing what he would say next.

Leave it to Rodney to turn an apology into an accusation, half-hearted as the accusation was.

"It wasn't your fault. None of it was. If anything, it was my fault."

John opened his mouth to protest, but reconsidered and shut his mouth.

Rodney gave him a small smile and continued. "Thank you for not arguing. Anyway, I shouldn't have said what I said to you and I am truly, truly sorry for it. I know you would never hurt any of us intentionally. I don't blame you. None of us do." Apparently feeling it needed repeating, Rodney reiterated, "It was _not_ your fault."

Someday, he might actually believe that, but for now, content in the knowledge that his team was safe and well on the road to recovery, John let the pull of the drugs running through his system lull him into a light sleep.

_THE END_


End file.
